Many thanks go to brianna-xox, fredfred and Otium for betaing. They improved the story a lot.

Chapter 2: Recalled to Duty

Orkney Island, Scapa Flow, May 3rd, 2001

The end had come very quickly. Not even ten minutes into her first real battle, she had been killed. One minute she had been firing at the enemy, ignoring the minor damage on her boat deck while she unmasked her rear turrets, the next she had been broken in two by a single hit. She had sunk so fast, only three of her crew had survived. 1418 souls had gone down with her. Speed had been her reason to exist, and speed had been her doom when it had failed to be her armour.

She should have known this would happen. She had been old. Outdated. Built for a war she arrived too late to fight in, and then bypassed by newer ships in the twenty years that followed. She had been worn down by her long service as well, in desperate need of a refit. Or just repairs - she hadn't even been able to provide enough water for her crew.

She had often wondered if her end might have been a fitting punishment for her hubris. For two decades she had been the most powerful ship of her navy. The flagship of an Empire. And yet, when war had come, finally, all she had done was murder former allies, helplessly caught in a harbour. No wonder she had been excited when the time had come to finally face a real enemy. To finally prove her mettle. Live up to her reputation.

A challenge, a duty she had failed. Catastrophically.

So, why was she suddenly back in her home port? She knew this port. Scapa Flow. The home of the Grand Fleet, no the Home Fleet, in times of war. Only… there was no sign of war. No sign of the fleet either. She couldn't see any other ship of the navy. Not with her optics, nor with her type 284 radar.

And yet, she had been recalled to service. That she was certain of. Her country needed her. Had the Home Fleet been defeated? Was she the last ship to defend Britain? She studied the coast, so familiar, and yet different. There were no signs of battle. No debris on the beach, no destroyed fortifications. Not even torn torpedo nets drifting in the sea. This was no port at war. How could a fleet be lost, yet a port be at peace?

And, she added, when she finally couldn't ignore it anymore, why was she a girl?

She looked down at her body. Her definitely human-looking body. But she was a ship, not a human. A human wearing clothes better suited to the streets of London than the sea. A skirt that didn't reach her knees, boots that rose to cover her shins, armoured, but certainly not regulation, and a shirt that might vaguely look like a uniform - to a land-lubber. From what she knew about humans, this was not attire worn on duty, much less in the North Sea.

And, she added, humans didn't walk on water. But then, she was a ship. She could feel her boilers inside her, driving her. She knew her turrets were but a command away from unmasking - although that seemed to mean something a bit different, now. She didn't really walk either, but sailed. And she even had a crew of sort, with her, on her. Though again, different than before.

No matter her form though, she was ready for action. She lifted her chin, studied the sea again, then set out to inspect the coast. She had been called back to serve, and she would do her duty.

Even if she had to find out what her duty was, first.

It didn't take her long to reach the coast, another sign that she was a ship. A human would have not been as fast, neither swimming nor running. She could see parts of the port facilities she knew so well as she approached, but no one challenged her. No guns covered her approach, no ship or longboat met her. There was no radio traffic either. She had sent some coded messages, but no one had answered. And if hostile forces were in the area, then transmitting in the clear was a bad idea.

She didn't make landfall. This was not a place she would get orders. As hard as it was to believe, the Navy must have abandoned this port. She frowned, pulling back a strand of her blonde hair that had escaped her ponytail. There was one place the Navy would never leave. The Admiralty House in London. She would make her way there, and then she would get the orders she needed!

Just as she was picking up steam to leave Scapa Flow, her type 279 air-warning radar alerted her of two planes approaching her position. She turned around, wary but not alarmed. Two planes were no threat to an Admiral-class Battlecruiser.

Though, as it turned out once she had visual contact, those were not planes, but flying humans. On… brooms? She blinked, wondering if those were planes given human form, just as she was a ship given human form. But why would they ride brooms?

She couldn't see any weapons, nor bombs, and the bright red clothes they wore looked anything but military, and so she did not unmask her anti-aircraft guns as they approached. Maybe they would know where she was supposed to go. They certainly looked as out of place as she felt.

Orkney Island, Scapa Flow, May 3rd, 2001

"She's seen us."

Ron Weasley couldn't help but be nervous when he saw the girl on the water turn towards them, despite the distance they were keeping. She didn't look as wrong and unnatural as that thing on the Thames had looked, and he couldn't see any guns moving around her, but the similarities were… alright, the only similarity was that this girl walked on water as well. And there were spells for that. Probably.

He snorted. "She doesn't look aggressive," he said to Harry. "And I don't see a wand out."

"It could still be a trap."

After Hogsmeade, Ron didn't make jokes about walking into a trap anymore, so he nodded. "True. But we can't exactly let her alert the muggles, can we? Someone has to deal with her."

Harry sighed and muttered: "Story of our lives."

Ron chuckled, and without a further word, the two accelerated on their brooms and sped towards the girl, who now seemed to be waiting for them, her head slightly cocked to the side. She was wearing muggle clothes, but that didn't mean a thing. Tonks had proven that.

"Hello. I'm Auror Potter, this is Auror Weasley. British Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Harry stated while Ron cast a quick spell to hide them from the muggles.

"Ministry of Magic?"

The girl looked and sounded very surprised, at least to Ron. "You've never heard of the Ministry?" he asked, to confirm her ignorance. She had a clear British accent. Queen's English, even, so the odds of her being a foreigner were very low.

She shook her head, her ponytail whipping around. "I've never heard of magic." While Ron pondered how the girl could have never heard of magic while standing on water, she continued. "But it would explain this, I reckon." She gestured at herself.

"Is this the first time you've walked on water?" Harry asked.

"Walked, yes. I've been sailing the seas for over twenty years though."

Since she didn't look as if she was older than twenty, that might explain her ignorance, Ron thought. If she had been living on a ship all her life, she would not have been sent a Hogwarts letter, probably. He wasn't that familiar with the procedure. He'd have to ask McGonagall.

"What's your name?" Harry asked, before Ron could ask about accidental magic.

The girl suddenly stood ramrod-straight. "His Majesty's Ship Hood. Admiral-Class battlecruiser, Royal Navy. Pennant number 51."

Ron's first thought was that someone had cursed the girl with a False-Memory Charm. His second thought was that that pale thing on the Thames had had gun turrets that had looked like they belonged on a battleship. And seaplanes.

"You don't look much like a battlecruiser," Harry said.

Ron glanced at his friend. One day, Harry's snark would be the death of them.

Fortunately, the girl didn't seem to take offence. She nodded, with an earnest expression. "I know I don't. I don't know what happened. One minute I'm sinking, the next I'm standing on water, and I'm a girl."

Ron really hoped that someone had messed with her memory. The alternative - that someone was raising sunken ships as … something - meant that there was a very powerful wizard out there. Probably a necromancer even. And yet, it would explain the attack on London.

"I've never heard of a ship turning into a girl." Harry sounded very sceptical. As far as Ron knew, not even The Quibbler had ever mentioned such a thing.

"I didn't think you could fly on brooms. Or that magic was real," the girl retorted.

Ron had to laugh, which made Harry grin and the girl smile. That was good. He didn't fancy making a girl angry who might be able to summon the same cannons that had destroyed part of London. "Well, brooms have been enchanted to fly for a long time." He didn't see any reaction other than surprise on her face.

"So… you're… witches?"

"Wizards," Ron corrected her.

"Aurors," Harry cut in. "Magical Law Enforcement. We've been informed by the Ministry that there was a possible threat to the Statute of Secrecy here. Magic has to be kept secret by law. Normal humans do not know about it."

"Oh. I didn't know that." The girl looked down at herself. "I assume this is magic then?"

"Yes," Ron said. What else could it be? Hermione would find out what kind of magic soon enough.

"I'm not the only one to have been recalled to serve then?" The girl smiled widely. "Who else reported for duty? Prince of Wales? She was with me when I sunk."

"You're the first, ah, shipgirl, who we have encountered," Ron said. He felt bad when he saw her face fall.

"If you are a 'shipgirl'. There are magic spells that can make you believe anything," Harry said.

The girl frowned at him. "Are you doubting my word?" She narrowed her eyes, and suddenly four gun turrets appeared around her.

Ron gasped and had his wand aimed at her before he realised that the turrets were the same size as those of the creature that had attacked London, but didn't look or feel as unnatural. They looked like miniature versions of battleship turrets in that book Hermione had found last night, and they were mounted on what seemed to be two halves of a miniature ship's bow and stern. And he was staring right at their muzzles. He slowly lowered his wand, and to his relief, the turrets turned away from him in response.

"Ah… I guess you are a battlecruiser-girl," Harry said in a dry voice that hid his own nervousness.

"The last and best battlecruiser of the Royal Navy!" the girl - Hood - said with obvious pride.

Ron wasn't about to argue with that. Not this close to her guns. He could see smaller guns poking out from those ship parts too. The thing on the Thames had had smaller guns as well. Anti-aircraft guns.

"Who called you?" Harry asked. He sounded as tense as Ron felt.

"I don't know. I just knew I was needed. That my country needed me. Are we at war?"

Ron snorted. After London, there was but one answer: "Yes. But we don't know with whom."

Yet.

London, May 3rd, 2001

London had suffered the greatest damage since the Blitz - more damage in a single attack than during the Blitz, even - but its citizens were dealing with it in the way their grandparents had during the Second World War: By keeping to their normal routines as much as possible. At least that was Hermione Granger's impression on her way to the Ministry. Though the newspaper headlines, the signs for blood drives, and the flowers deposited as close to the still smoking ruins as possible without disturbing the police showed that London had been struck in its heart, and was reeling.

She could have apparated to work. Should have, actually. But instead, she was travelling through muggle London, the city she had been born in. The city she had grown distant from years ago. Just as she had grown distant from her parents. Who were the reason she was currently standing inside a phone booth and casting Doubling Charms on coins. International phone calls were expensive, and she hadn't that many muggle coins anyway.

She checked her watch. Her parents would be at home now, back from work in Wellington. And frantic with worry, probably. She winced and started dialing. As she had expected, her call was picked up before the phone could ring twice.

"Granger residence." Her mother's concerned voice caused her to feel more than a bit guilty for not having called last night.

"Mum? I'm alright." She started to feed more coins into the phone.

"Hermione! Douglas, it's Hermione!" Her mother sobbed, briefly. "We saw the news… the destruction, right where you're working…"

"Yes. It was an attack on the Ministry." She shouldn't have said that. It would only make things worse. But she hadn't lied to her parents, and she wasn't about to start now. And starting an argument made her feel less guilty for neglecting her parents.

"What? Hermione! That looked like war. A real war! They say it was a bombing attack by planes."

"We're still investigating, but it looks like it was magical in origin. Although using aeroplanes." She decided not to mention the water-walking, gun-toting creature Harry and Ron had seen.

"Dear Lord! And they attacked you? With bombs?"

"They attacked the Ministry. The upper floors were destroyed, but as I'm working on the lowest floor, I was safe." Hermione tried to sound as calm as possible.

"Another war. With bombs this time!" Her mum sounded aghast.

Hermione winced. She knew what was coming.

"You should come to visit us. Just until this war is over."

As she had expected. She closed her eyes for an instant, pressing her lips together and swallowing what she wanted to say. "Mum, I'm a department head. I'm needed here. People depend on me to find out what is going on."

"Just as they depended on you four years ago? What country needs a teenager to save it in a war?"

"I'm not a teenager anymore, mum."

"It's those boys! If not for them, you'd not be risking your life!" Her mother's voice was dripping with scorn now. Her mum hadn't called Harry and Ron by name ever since Hermione had told her that she was living with them. And sleeping with both.

"I've told you before: Even if Harry and Ron weren't around, I'd not leave my country! And certainly not in the middle of a war where I can make a difference!" Hermione took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. The memory of that argument, when she had refused to move to New Zealand with her parents, back in 1996, still hurt.

Her mother didn't answer. Then she heard her father speak. "Hermione?"

"Yes, Dad?" She was talking in a more clipped tone now. Controlling herself.

She heard him sigh. "We just want you to be safe, dear."

And not living in a ménage à trois, Hermione mentally added. Even if Harry and Ron were the only ones who truly understood her. Who knew what she had gone through. Who had gone through the same, in the last war.

"I'm as safe as I can be, Dad. I'm not an Auror. I'm not a soldier. I'm a researcher."

"A researcher working in a building that was just bombed," her father said in a dry voice.

She refused to feel guilty for that small attempt at deception. She hadn't fought aeroplanes in the sky above London, nor dodged anti-aircraft fire over the Thames, after all. "I'm working ten floors underground, in a magical bunker." This wasn't the time to mention that the Minister himself had been killed in the attack.

Another sigh. She knew how he would be looking right now. Disappointed. Worried. Angry - at Wizarding Britain. At Harry and Ron. And at her. "If… if things become more dangerous, please at least consider joining us here. Wellington is a great city."

"I'll discuss it with my friends," she said.

"Alright. We love you, you know." Her parents knew she wouldn't leave Britain. Not in the middle of a war. And she wouldn't leave her friends.

"I know. I love you too."

It wasn't a lie. But Hermione loved her friends more than her parents. And they knew it as well.

"This is a catastrophe!" Hyacinth Selwyn, Chief Warlock and acting Minister for Magic, exclaimed, slapping down a few muggle newspapers on the table in the conference room.

Hermione cocked her head sideways and skimmed the headlines. 'Undead Nazis attack!' 'Bombs out of nowhere!' 'Hitler's Revenge!' She suppressed a snort. If this hadn't been Horrible Hyacinth, she would have thought the witch was talking about the vast destruction London had suffered.

"The ICW will be up in wands about this threat to the Statute of Secrecy, and they'll blame me - us!" the acting Minister went on. "This needs to be dealt with at once!"

Hermione shook her head, both at the headlines as well as at the witch's self-serving aims.

Arthur Weasley spoke up. "As the acting liaison to the Prime Minister, I can assure you that the Statute of Secrecy is not in danger. The muggles are treating this as a terrorist attack. The Prime Minister, obviously, is aware that this was an attack on us, and I have informed him that it was of magical origin."

"What? Why did you do that?" The old witch all but screeched.

Arthur remained calm. "It was needed so the Prime Minister could help keep the Statute of Secrecy. Otherwise some knowledge, or even just a hint, of the nature of the attack would soon threaten to expose magic." The wizard glanced at Hermione.

Nodding, she spoke up: "The seaplanes were conjured, and their pilots were a variant of Inferi, as far as we can tell from preliminary examinations. The magical nature and origin of this attack has been confirmed without a doubt."

"That was already obvious by the destruction caused," Selwyn said with a sneer. "Muggle weapons would have never managed to break through our wards."

"Actually, the destruction was caused by purely muggle means," Hermione said in what Ron and Harry called her 'lecturing tone'. "They were magically delivered though."

"Delivered?" Henry Avery asked. The Head of the DMLE looked a bit lost.

"A muggle term. They were dropped on the Ministry by magical means," Hermione explained. Technically, she was correct.

Avery nodded. The man had proven to be a decent successor to Amelia Bones during the war, despite some of his relatives fighting for the other side.

"The muggles are trying to track down the bombs used, which will occupy them for a while." Arthur took over again. "We can use this to fabricate a fake muggle origin for them. The Prime Minister has made a few suggestions."

Hermione wondered just how those suggestions had been worded. She didn't envy Arthur's new position.

"Pass them on to the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee," Selwyn ordered. "With that dealt with, what is the status of our defences? If those attackers return…" The old witch wasn't the only one glancing at the ceiling. They were on the ninth floor underground, which had become rather popular recently. Dawlish the Idiot had even tried to move into Hermione's department.

Avery grimaced. "Our Curse-Breakers are struggling with the ward anchors. They do not have much experience with wards that old, and Gringotts has denied us the use of one of their Curse-Breaking teams from Egypt, citing the need to reinforce their own wards."

Hermione didn't want to spend time on that task, but if there was another attack… She cleared her throat. "I can take a look at the anchors. I have some experience with older wards." She and her friends had broken into quite a few old manors during the war, something everyone at the table was aware of, but usually tried to forget.

"Do it," Selwyn said curtly. "Now, next point…"

Hermione suppressed a sigh. She really did need to start working as soon as possible.

Orkney Island, Scapa Flow, May 3rd, 2001

"London has been attacked? Shelled?" Hood sounded horrified. "What has the Navy been doing? What about the Royal Air Force? What about the Territorials?"

Harry Potter winced. She was also getting louder with each word. "It was a surprise attack. As far as we know, the attacker simply appeared on the Thames." He didn't add 'like you appeared here.'

"The attacker disappeared in a sudden storm," Ron added.

"I have to sail south at once! Report in at the Admiralty. Be ready to defend the city, and the King."

"It's Queen Elizabeth II now, the daughter of King George VI," Harry said, almost reflexively. The Dursleys hadn't cared that much about the government, but the Royal family had been held in high regard.

"Princess Elizabeth?" Hood perked up. "I know her!" She blinked. "Or I did, kind of." Then she shook her head. "But it doesn't matter! My duty is clear!"

"Actually, you can't report to the Admiralty," Ron said. When the girl turned towards him, and the turrets started to move, he quickly held his hands up. "They don't know about magic. The only one who knows about magic is the Prime Minister."

"Then I will report to him," Hood stated, briefly showing her teeth. "I was recalled to duty to defend my country, and that is what I will be doing!"

Harry exchanged a glance with Ron. The thought of a battlecruiser-turned-girl going to the Prime Minister's residence, at a time like this, and with a story like hers… "We can help with that," he said. "We can get you to London faster than you can, ah, sail."

"Really? That broom can carry a ship like me?" Hood eyed Harry's prized Firebolt with a dubious expression.

"Not with you having those turrets." Harry gestured at the slowly moving turrets and guns. "They look far heavier than a person."

"Can you even go on land?" Ron asked. "If you're a ship, I mean."

Hood looked unsure for a moment. Then she nodded. "I can make landfall, yes." She patted her thigh. "I have legs now!"

"Have you tried?" Harry asked. He suddenly imagined the girl being beached in the middle of London. Or stuck in the street.

"No…" The girl narrowed her eyes. "I'll try now!"

With those words, Hood sped off towards the beach, trailing a wake like a ship. She was quite fast - though not even close to the top speed of Ron's broom, much less Harry's. The two Aurors quickly caught up, and Harry flew ahead, to cast a muggle-repelling charm while Ron flew next to the girl.

The Hood and Ron arrived at the beach, and Harry saw the turrets and ship parts disappear, right before the girl stepped on land. Her foot didn't sink into the sand, but she wobbled a bit, and Harry saw Ron moving to catch her, should she fall, before recoiling with a sheepish expression.

"This is… weird," Hood said, looking puzzled as she took a few tentative steps. "It's utterly unlike sailing."

"Well, you certainly don't weigh as much as a battlecruiser," Ron said, looking at the footprints in the sand.

Hood's almost shy smile turned into a glare aimed at Harry's friend. "Fully loaded, my displacement is 46,680 long tons!"

Ron held his hands up. "I'm just wondering if we can side-along apparate you." Hood looked confused. "Ah, that means, instantly transport you by magic. From here to London."

The girl's eyes widened. "You can do that?"

"We can apparate humans. We're not certain we can apparate you," Harry explained. "If it goes wrong, well… people tend to get splinched."

"Which means a part of their body stays behind."

"Oh." Hood looked wary now. "I'd rather not lose part of my hull."

"Which is why we best test it here," Harry said. "Just a short distance, a few yards."

Hood looked apprehensive, but suddenly, she nodded and pushed her chin forward. "If this will allow me to be in London instantly, then I have to do this!"

Harry looked at Ron, who nodded. "You're better than me at putting bodies together, mate." Harry's friend turned to Hood, and offered her his arm as if they were going to a ball. "It won't hurt, even if you lose a part. Harry can reattach it. Magically."

The girl nodded. Apparently, Harry thought, she trusted magic to work. Well, she was a magical being herself.

Hood hooked her arm inside Ron's, and a second later, they disappeared with a pop, reappearing a few yards away.

"See? Easy!" Ron said, smiling, though Harry knew he had been nervous. "Now let's check if we didn't leave anything behind. I lost my eyebrows when I was taught Apparition."

A thorough search didn't reveal any missing body or hull parts, but resulted in Hood becoming rather impatient.

"Can we go to London now? I am needed there!" the girl said, with crossed arms and a rather stern expression.

Harry cleared his throat. "We can, but," he raised a finger, "before we go we need to tell you a few things about Britain and Wizarding Britain." When Harry saw how her eyes started to narrow, he quickly added: "You need to know this so you don't break the law."

"Oh."

Harry wished Hermione was here to explain that, but she was busy in the Ministry. And Ron was 'keeping an eye out for muggles'. He sighed. "Alright. Wizarding Britain was founded in 1692, when the International Statute of Secrecy was implemented. Since then, magic has been kept a secret, and..."

London, May 3rd, 2001

London had changed. A lot. HMS Hood had expected this, ever since the two wizards had told her how much time had passed since her sinking. 60 years. Three times her lifetime. But to see, to experience it… all those new buildings. The skyscrapers. The sheer size of the city. The cars. And the people. Their number, their fashion… people from all over the Empire were living here.

And the planes and helicopters, as those were called, circling overhead! The Royal Air Force had fantastic weapons! Hood had wanted to go and look at one of the anti-aircraft batteries the British Army had installed around London, but she had been told that they didn't allow visitors.

But there were so many other sights to see! Like… she stopped walking and turned her head, watching a young woman walk past who was wearing ripped stockings and leather, and metal bits in her face. No wonder no one batted an eye at her own attire!

The two wizards - Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, she reminded herself - had changed into 'muggle clothes' themselves, though Hood was certain that in the middle of all these people, even red robes wouldn't stand out.

"Hood?"

She turned back and saw the two men were looking at her. Waiting. She had fallen out of formation! "I'm sorry." She sped up and rejoined them. "You were saying?"

Harry sighed. "The relationship between Wizarding Britain and Britain is complicated. Everything and everyone magical in Britain fall under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Magic. It's almost an independent government. And yet not exactly. It was never formally separated, and probably never will be since that would require Parliament to be told about magic."

She nodded. That sounded like the usual legal quagmire the government had produced in the past when it came to the colonies and dominions.

"And," Ron cut in, "the Prime Minister isn't happy with the Ministry of Magic. Or with wizards. He might not believe you."

"I can prove who I am!" Hood said.

"Hopefully without firing your guns," Harry muttered.

She frowned at him. A shakedown cruise involved testing the weapons as well, everyone knew that. They shouldn't have expected a warship of the Royal Navy to report for duty without ensuring that she was actually ready!

"Summoning her… 'rig' should be enough," Ron said. He was the more cheerful of the two, Hood had noticed.

"Hopefully," Harry said, proving her point. "So… we will have to be careful when approaching the Prime Minister. We don't want the Ministry of Magic to know about you, or they'll try to arrest you."

Hood nodded. They had explained at length that the Ministry of Magic had no clue about ships, or shipgirls, and was generally not too competent. She didn't think that made it different from any other civilian part of the government, but she understood the need for secrecy. She was a secret weapon now.

"My father's the new liaison to the Prime Minister, so I can get us to the Prime Minister with his help," Ron explained. Hood had wondered why the son of such an important family was working for the magical police, but as she understood, the wizards hadn't a navy, not even an army, so that might be the next best thing.

"As long as he doesn't tell anyone else about us," Harry said. After a glance from Ron, he said: "Sorry."

"Alright, let me call him." Ron dug around in his pocket, and pulled out a small metal case. He opened it, and took an even smaller thing out of it. Hood had seen those before - lots of people walked around with them at their ear. It was marvelous how technology had progressed in Britain. Even civilians had portable radios! Even if they called them phones.

She listened attentively to Ron's side of the talk.

"Dad? It's me."

"No, I'm fine. And so are Harry and Hermione."

"You saw her this morning? Good."

"Listen, we've found something the muggle minister needs to know."

"Yes, it's urgent."

"Yes."

"No, the Ministry can't know."

"Really not, Dad. Trust me."

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Thank you Dad."

"I'll tell them, but with this crisis going on…"

"I'll tell them."

"Thanks. See you soon."

He flicked the thing off and sighed. "He will send a message once we can go in. And we're invited to dinner at the Burrow. All of us."

Harry winced. "OK. But you're the one to tell Hermione."

"Alright. And you tell her about Hood," Ron responded.

Hood saw Harry wince even more after that.

At least Downing Street looked like it did in the pictures she had seen. Not everything should change, Hood thought, as they approached the building. She also approved of the reinforced and armed guards there. The country was at war, after all. But why they were not sending the reporters laying siege to the building away, she couldn't tell.

Hood couldn't dwell much on that though. She had to take care not to fall out of formation again - since she was currently wearing an invisibility cloak, Harry and Ron wouldn't notice her absence, and she might get lost or cut off. It was a marvelous thing, this cloak. With one of these, she would be able to sneak up on any other ship! Provided it also worked against radar, of course.

A red-haired older man stepped out of the building to meet them. "Ron, Harry," the man said, smiling.

"Dad," Ron said.

"Arthur." Harry nodded at him.

So, that was Ron's father, Hood thought. He looked tired, but friendly. "Follow me."

Mister Weasley led them inside the Prime Minister's residence, and if not for her compass, Hood would have been lost quickly. A ship wasn't made for navigating the insides of buildings. Some harbours were complicated enough!

Sooner than she had expected they were meeting the Prime Minister. Who also looked tired. And angry.

"So… what's this important magical affair I need to be informed of right now? And away from that magical portrait spying on me? In the middle of the biggest crisis in my term?" He sounded angry. And suspicious. Leaning forward, he snarled: "Thousands of people died in an attack aimed at your Ministry! An attack by magical planes which do not show up on radar! The Royal Air Force is getting blamed for this, and I can't tell the public, or even the Air Force, that it wasn't their fault! You better be here to tell me that you found whatever new 'Dark Lord' was behind this! And give me a good excuse so I can stop having around-the-clock combat air patrols and missile batteries in London that will be useless against magic!"

Oh, yes, he was angry. And, as far as Hood could tell, with good reason. This was worse than the Blitz! At least during that war, people had known who had attacked them, and could fight back.

"Sir," Ron said, "we've been investigating the attack on London, and we found someone who needs to meet you."

Hood pulled the cloak off herself and saluted. "Her Majesty's Ship Hood, reporting for duty!"

The Prime Minister stared at her, then at the wizards. Mister Weasley was staring at her as well.

"As far as we can tell, she's the personified spirit of the battlecruiser Hood," Harry explained. "She says she was called back from wherever she was because the country needs her."

Hood nodded. "I'm fully operational, sir. Ready to serve."

The Prime Minister was still staring at her and the others. And Ron's father was now looking very interested. Fascinated even.

"She demonstrated that, sir," Harry added. "She has the firepower of a battlecruiser. She can summon those miniature turrets that fire full-sized shells."

"Like the shells that devastated London yesterday?" the Prime Minister asked with narrowed eyes.

Hood hadn't been able to check the areas that had been bombarded either. The police had cordoned everything off, she had been told. Maybe the Prime Minister would let her check it out? She was quite familiar with big guns, after all.

"There are some similarities, sir. Auror Weasley and myself fought the attackers yesterday. We brought down three of the seaplanes. And we saw the creature shelling the city. It looked female, but inhuman. Pale white skin and hair, surrounded by floating, warped cannons, blood-red armour..." He shook his head. "We tried to close with her, but she disappeared in that storm."

Hood fought not to shiver at hearing that description. She didn't know how she knew, but this creature was unnatural. Corrupted.

The Prime Minister sighed. "Magic."

"Obviously," Ron said.

"I would usually question this, but in a weird, 'magical' way, it seems to fit." The man shook his head.

"Sir?" All three wizards looked surprised.

"Our investigators found an unexploded 15 inch shell. Or rather, a 38 cm shell. Of a type not seen in over 50 years."

Hood blinked. 38 cm… did he mean…?

"To their surprise, they also identified the wrecked seaplane we managed to secure as originally belonging to the Bismarck."

Hood pressed her lips together so she wouldn't curse in the presence of the Prime Minister.

The Bismarck. The ship that had sunk her, 60 years ago. The ship that she would have to fight again.

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, May 3rd, 2001

Hood was not quite as confident as she acted, in Ron Weasley's opinion. She had sounded very determined when she had assured the Prime Minister that she was ready to defend Britain, and that Harry and Ron would be able to deploy her anywhere within seconds. As the man had said, 'the very picture of the spirit of the Navy'.

But now that they had left No. 10 Downing Street, and she had returned the Cloak of Invisibility to Harry, she was no longer watching the streets with eager curiosity. Instead, her manner was more subdued.

"We should eat something," Ron said. The whole meeting with the Prime Minister had taken so long, it was already afternoon.

"Oh, yes!" Hood perked up. "I need to replenish my bunkers!"

"I guess that means you're hungry," Harry said, with a wry smile. "Fish and Chips OK?"

"I've never eaten before, so… I guess?" Hood smiled widely.

"Alright." It seemed fitting that her first meal would be a classic British meal. Ron ducked into the next side alley, out of sight of the muggles, and apparated to his favourite food stall.

A few minutes later he was handing one meal to Harry and one to Hood. "Bon appetit."

"That was good! Can I have another?"

Ron looked up from his not yet unwrapped meal to Hood, who was beaming at him. "You already ate?"

She nodded several times. "Yes. Can I have more? I'm a battlecruiser, not a frigate."

"Merlin's beard, Ron, she eats faster than you!" Harry said.

Ron shot him a glare. That had been back in first year! He turned to Hood. "Well… I guess I can get another portion." Her smile seemed to shrink a bit. "More?" he asked.

She nodded again. "I need to fill my tanks so I don't run out of fuel."

Ron had a sudden vision of an empty Fish and Chips shop and an empty purse. His empty purse. He looked at his own untouched meal and wrapped it up again. "We need to take her to Grimmauld Place, Harry."

Harry looked confused for a moment, then his eyes widened. "Oh."

A minute later they were in No. 12 Grimmauld Place.

Hood was looking around. "That looks a bit fancy for a restaurant that serves food wrapped in newspapers," she commented.

"It's not a restaurant. It's our home," Harry said. "We needed to get off the street so we can get you more food without making a scene. Let's go to the kitchen."

"Well, at least the kitchens haven't changed in 60 years," the Battlecruiser said.

Ron chuckled while Harry winced. The kitchen was Harry's domain, and he would have loved to get more modern appliances, but the house was far too magical for that.

Ron put his meal on the table and drew his wand. A Doubling Charm later, it had multiplied. "Enjoy!" he said to Hood, who was staring at the sight. Then she dug in.

Ron had to recast the charm two times until the girl finally declared that she was full, and that magic was the best thing ever for replenishment.

Harry was still shaking his head in amazement.

"Well," Ron said, "it looks like you'll need bigger portions for dinner than you thought. Remember to cook Hermione's favourite meal."

"Again? We had it yesterday."

"So?" Ron shrugged.

"She'll know we're up to something," Harry said.

"And? She'll still be in a better mood." Ron shook his head.

"Alright," Harry said with a sigh. "I'm going to the Ministry and file a 'we're not yet done' report. I'll be grumpy, so Dawlish shouldn't bother us until tomorrow or the day after."

"I'll stay here with Hood," Ron looked at the girl who was studying The Quibbler left on the table. "I guess we'll put her in one of the guest rooms." He rubbed his chin. "Do we have a water bed?"

"Hi, Harry, Ron!"

Ron winced, slightly, when he heard Hermione's voice from the entrance hall. Hood, who had been reading one of the books Hermione had gathered for her research into the seaplane, looked up. Harry was still in the kitchen, working on dinner.

"Hedwig delivered your letter. You've found something important?" The witch entered the living room, and stopped when she saw Hood sitting at her place, surrounded by her books.

Ron knew Hermione didn't take well to anyone intruding in their home. Even less so when they were intruding on her favourite spots, and to see them reading her books… but they had been best friends for ten years, and they had been living together for four years, if you counted the time spent underground, hunted by Death Eaters. He knew how to deflect her temper.

He quickly stood up and gestured at Hood. "Hi, Hermione. This is Her Majesty's Ship Hood. Admiral-Class Battlecruiser of the Royal Navy. Recently recalled to service as a girl."

Hermione blinked. "What?"

Ron knew he would pay for it later, but he couldn't resist. "Hood? This is Hermione Granger. She doesn't look like it right now, but she's the brightest witch of our age."

The battlecruiser smiled widely and offered her hand while Hermione glared at Ron, before her curiosity took over. Just as Ron had known it would.

"You're a … ship turned girl? Reincarnated?" she asked while shaking hands.

"She can summon 15 inch cannons. We saw a demonstration in Scapa Flow," Ron cut in.

Hood nodded. "Yes. I was recalled to protect Britain from the Bismarck."

The witch narrowed her eyes. "You mean… of course! The Arado Ar 196, and the four turrets… it fits." She turned to Ron. "If we overlook the fact that there was never any record of such a thing happening."

"I'm not a thing, I'm a warship."

"Well, there was Dad's enchanted car," Ron pointed out. The Anglia had developed sentience. Of sorts.

"That car didn't turn into a girl," Hermione retorted. "Although, there's Pygmalion."

She turned to Hood. "This requires further research."

"After dinner," Harry said. He must have sneaked up on them during the discussion, Ron thought, without getting noticed. Moody would have had him doing night shifts for such a mistake.

"Oh! Food!" Hood perked up.

"She eats like a warship," Ron explained to Hermione. "I had to cast the Doubling Charm three times until she was full."

"'Eats like a warship'?" Hermione shook her head, huffing. "Ron, warships don't eat!"

Harry, the sneaky traitor, used the distraction. "Oh, Hermione? Arthur's invited us all to dinner to the Burrow. The day after tomorrow."

The witch just nodded, her attention obviously focused on Hood.

Ron sighed. They'd have to make her eat, he just knew it.

A few hours later, they were in their room, ready for bed. Hood was already asleep, on her brand new water bed. The girl had been even more impressed by this invention than by magic, or so it had seemed. He smiled, reclining on their bed already.

"You were both reckless," Hermione suddenly said while she was stowing her robe in her armoire. She wasn't looking at him. "To bring an unknown magical creature to London. After you saw that she could fire 15 inch cannons."

Ron slowly nodded. "Yes. But she was about to head to London on her own. If anyone had mistaken her for the creature who attacked…" It had been a gut call. He knew Hermione hated those.

The witch sighed. "If anything had happened to you two…"

Ron stood up and went to her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "It didn't. We're safe."

"But if it had…"

He rested his chin on her head. "We can't worry too much over what could have been." He understood how she felt. He had felt the same when he had seen the ruins of the Ministry. If Hermione had been in a meeting with Kingsley...

He heard Harry leave the bathroom, and stop. A moment later his friend had joined them, hugging both of them. Ron felt Hermione shiver, then slowly relax.

"We're fine," he whispered.

"We're together," Harry added.

She snorted, and turned around in their arms, embracing both of them.

"Let's go to bed."

North Sea, Azkaban, May 4th, 2001

There was the island. Azkaban. The cursed prison. She remembered attacking it once, conquering it. She had flown, back then, through the dark sky. Taken the island through treachery, turning the fiends guarding the place against those who deluded themselves into thinking the island was theirs.

She had no need for such subterfuge anymore. No need to bargain with fiends. No need to sneak around in the dark of the night, like a thief. She sailed out of the storm that had carried her there while the sun was already rising, and her cannons turned on the island.

Her guns moved quickly, not slowly, now. She knew her body, her power. She wouldn't miss as often as she had when she had shelled the Ministry either. She had practiced. Planned. She knew the island, knew the prison. The temptation was there to fire broadside after broadside. To flatten the entire building. Kill everyone inside. Show her power! She could use the dead as well as the living.

But she wouldn't do that. She was smart as well as powerful.

Her turrets turned a bit, adjusted their aim. And then she fired. Eight 38 cm SK C/34 thundered as one. She eagerly leaned forward, impatient to see the shells hit. There! She could see the wards protecting the prison's walls flare up as they were destroyed, together with the outer walls themselves. The seaplanes circling overhead let her correct her aim while her guns were reloaded. Less than half a minute later, they fired again. More shells hit the prison, pulverising the remains of the walls.

Her planes spotted broom riders trying to flee. With a savage grin, she ordered the planes to disengage and cover the island's opposite side. She would deal with the cowards in range of her anti-aircraft guns personally. Her guns could use the exercise. Her SK C/33 guns started firing, filling the air above the prison with deadly shrapnel. One of the wizards was blasted off his broom. Another simply exploded into a red mist. The rest split up. Some dove down to the sea, others rose as fast as they could. None escaped. The fools who thought they could outclimb her flak were shot down. Her seaplanes chased down those using the island as cover, machine guns shredding them from above. And the few idiots who dove into the water were killed with bombs. She reveled in their deaths!

She sailed closer, her smaller guns covering the prison now. Her planes returned, spotting for her. Two guards, hiding in the rubble of a fallen wall, discovered that rubble didn't stop her secondaries. Two more times guards were spotted, before she reached the pier. She laughed - the same wards that covered the entire island and kept the prisoners from using any form of magical travel now kept the guards from escaping!

Her guns vanished as she stepped on land, but they were still with her, just a command away. They were part of her. And her planes were still circling above as she strode towards the prison, ready to deal with any remaining resistance.

There was none. She entered the remains of the prison's courtyard, stepping over rubble and bodies, towards the guardroom. The door had survived the shelling, but she drove her gauntlet into it and ripped it off its hinges.

Inside, a guard was cowering, and spells flew at her. She scoffed as they hit. As if such weak attacks could hurt her! The man kept casting and crying while she walked towards him, taking her time. He was whimpering when she reached him and screamed when she crushed his wand and hand.

"Please… please… I surrender…"

She ignored his begging, cocking her head as she thought how he would serve her best. An escort, maybe? Even someone as powerful as she needed escorts. She shook her head. He was too weak for that. He would be fuel. Like his comrades. Smiling, she crushed his throat and let him choke to death.

Then she took his keys from him, and entered the cell tract. Many of the prisoners on the first floor were screaming, driven to madness by the shelling no doubt. Those were the petty criminals, she remembered. The weak ones. Fuel. She opened cell after cell, and silenced them. Before she headed down to the dungeons. Where the dangerous prisoners were housed. The murderers. The rapists. The Death Eaters.

She stopped. Death Eaters. She remembered them. They were her followers. Those who had fought for her. Before she had been defeated. Those who had failed her. Caught in the memories, she passed the cells, searching for someone she remembered. In the fifth cell she found a witch who looked familiar. The woman was not cowering in a corner, like the others, the common criminals, but facing her.

"Malfoy," she whispered. The woman jerked. "I remember you. I marked you."

The witch, Malfoy, gasped. "Milord? Is that you? Have you returned?"

She nodded. "I have returned. As you knew I would." She opened the cell, and the witch fell to her knees.

"Thank you, milord! Thank you! My husband, my son, they fell in battle. I was captured, imprisoned, hoping… you came!" The witch smiled at her, grasping at her armoured boots. "You came!"

"Rise, Malfoy," she commanded, and the prisoner stood up. The woman was strong. Not as strong as others she remembered, but strong enough. She reached out and gripped the witch's throat, cutting off the babbling words.

While Malfoy fought to breathe, feet dangling in the air, she reached for her power, her new power. It flowed into her hand, and then into the witch. The prisoner started to scream while her body changed, twisted, weak flesh being replaced. Improved.

Malfoy would make a good escort.